Page 30 of The Surrender

—I offer a meager nod and brush my knuckles across her cheek. “Someday, Quinny.”

“At least tell me more about the gown!” She gushes and twirls at her reflection in the mirror. The winged tresses bound to the dress backing flick at my cheeks from her action.

Gods, this girl is relentless! But I can’t resist as I admire her in the attire of the angels. So, I adjust my hard cock beneath my breeches, trace a finger along the chest seals, and say, “These are saint seals. They are a sign and symbol of great honor. Some angel artisans will spend one hundred years crafting them. The greater the sacrifice, the greater the seal.”

Threading my brows in concern that she will retreat into herself once again, lose herself to whatever thoughts exile her to an isle of isolation or unworthiness, I meet her gaze in the mirror. Find her lips parted in awe. But her blushing cheeks and wide eyes and the sway of her hips show her sweet wonder.

Spirits, take me! Whatever adjustments I made to my lower regions backfire. Unchecked arousal prompts more blood to my cock, and I imagine it would take a fucking battering ram to tame it from her adoring expression alone. I think of the sacrifices she has already made. How she paid with her life on more than one occasion with Drago. Her trial by fire.

But air is a different entity.

“The gown itself is seraph silk,” I indicate to the near-transparent swathes sweeping from the off-the-shoulder gold bands around her upper arms. “The feathers are also seraph. It is a great transgression to steal the shed feathers of our highest clan. But as I still retain the title of their god, these are both sacrifices...and gifts.”

Quinny fingers the gold feathers stitched into the tresses at her sides while I move closer...and press a firm hand to her bodice beneath her breasts. A smile tugs at my lips from her little gasp. With one finger, I trace the delicate scrawling patterns all over her chest, humming my approval as she leans back while her nipples pebble.

“This is angel hair,” I tell her as her breath hitches in surprise. “Yes, Quinny dear. The finest of cherubim donations as they only sheer their locks once in a millennium. Your bodice is stitched angel hair, sprite thread, and starstones.”

It would be a bustier bodice if not for the fine tress of seraph silk connecting the base of the bodice to the crest of her skirts resting upon her lovely round hips. I’d swear they were not so round last week. I don’t hesitate to creep my fingers along that silk until I arrive at the belt.

“The finest and purest of gold refined in the kilns of heaven.” I grip it with my chest warming from the thrill of her heartbeat thrumming quicker from the intimate moment we share. “And your sumptuous skirts are formed of a combination of constellation satin, embellished with celestial stones forged into the shape of a six-pointed star. Last of all...”

I turn her toward me. Her chest heaves from her swift, shallow breath. What I love most about our little queen is how raw and real it is, every emotion. Any of us could chalk it up to her years as a 'half-ghost' as she called herself, but that would be a gods-damn lie. It’s within her nature, her very spirit to feel. She reaps the embodiment of emotion in its purest form.

Oh, what she could teach us, he gushes in a sarcastic taunt. Think you that she may thaw the cold and dark around our hearts? Or find us our soul?

“Shut up,” I growl, forgetting myself. I tighten all my neck muscles, bracing myself for her expression. But Quinny merely blinks. Then stares. What she does next shrivels all the breath in my lungs.

She throws her arms around my neck, presses herself closer to me, and whispers, “I once had a Shadow, too.”

Before I can allow this to sink into me, I fortify that wall of ice around my heart. I don’t tell her about the lodestar gems forming the sacred pattern of the ten-pointed star to represent the Ten United Cities of Angels. At least there were ten before Kronos...

I don’t have the strength for that now. Not when every expression, every gesture, every word, or whimper seems determined to drive a hot, star-forged spear right through my marrow.

Instead, I grip her wrist and lead her to the door where my brothers await. “Come now, little queen. It’s time for you to meet your subjects.”

22

“I am the Lord of the Court of Storms…”

QUINTESSA

“I look like a princess!” I nearly squeal while twirling in the outer hall before the other kings.

My vision whirls as I take my last twirl too fast. And collide right against Mayce’s chest, instantly blushing when he catches my wrists to steady me with a deep chuckle. As usual, Mayce presents like a fae god with gold whorls gracing the black velvet of his robe, which is open to show his strong, broad chest beneath his trim and tailored tunic. Strands of his golden hair eclipse my cheeks as he leans down and gifts me with a chaste kiss upon my brow.

“Well, now...” He inclines his head to Drago next to him, and my blood itself ignites at the sight of my hot-blooded dragon god in a long coat—open to exhibit all his ridges of muscle. “What was that old tale about the princess and the dragon?”

Drago snorts, rolls his eyes, and quicker than an eye flick, he has me in his arms. Pressed against all that corded power. Raised, so I’m just below eye-level with the heavy cowl of fur on his robe tickling my cheeks.

Oh, gods, his heartbeat beats against my chest, pounding like horse hooves.

Pressing my fingertips against his scaled chest, I bite my lower lip, then beam at him to say, “I prefer whatever version has the princess saving the dragon.”

“Hmm...she saved him so he could return the favor,” he purrs against my lips, referencing our history.

I skim my fingers across his strong and rugged square jaw. And traipse them across his defined cheekbones to cradle the side of his face which dwarfs my little hand. I don’t care if I haven’t seen any other dragons for comparison. It’s set in my mind and branded in my heart: Drago is the most beautiful. And it steals the very breath in my lungs to know he gave up part of his soul, ripped it in half, and seared it onto my half. My will was strong enough to save him. Not my body.

“Both of you will need saving...from me if we don’t get a move on,” Merikh grumbles low and deep from the shadows.

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